


what does moonlight sound like? (junhao)

by cityscaped (touchofgold)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M, everytime i listen to a piano cover i think of jun thanks, mushy piano playing, piano!jun makes me cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 17:19:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11879187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/touchofgold/pseuds/cityscaped
Summary: - jun plays the piano, minghao watches. it's not as creepy as it sounds, it's kinda cute.edit 02/10: i can't believe i wrote this fic and a few weeks later i get wen junhui, the man himself, releasing piano playing on svt's ig goodbye im quitting to become a psychic i called piano playing jun before piano playing jun happened





	what does moonlight sound like? (junhao)

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this poem: what does moonlight sound like by tehreem fazal
> 
> lord forgive me but this writing is lackluster, i've lost a significant amount of confidence in writing thanks to school i hate igcses and exams ugh.

            ‘ _The moon is bright tonight,_ ’ Minghao thought to himself, turning over in his single bed to face the open window. Spring nights were always the best spent with the windows wide open for the cool night’s breeze never failed to calm Minghao down. It has been a year since he left Haicheng, China for Seoul, and he had missed the country’s cool nights dearly. When he first came to Seoul, it was a blazing summer, resulting in his longing for his cozy home in Haicheng but he eventually adapted to Seoul’s weather with a twinge of yearning for his own home. ‘ _I think he’s going to play the piano again.’_

 

            This neighbourhood had a small population of people, resulting in a close-knit community peopled mainly by Chinese who all came here for better job opportunities. There has been a new family who just moved in a month ago but they were reserved people who kept to themselves and didn’t interact much with others. The only thing Minghao knew was that they had a son his age and there was a piano upstairs in his room, where he would play the piano every night at 11pm, when the neighbourhood was sound asleep.

 

            As if on cue, soft piano playing began to fill Minghao’s room, emitted from the neighbouring house. Minghao wraps his blanket around his body, crawling over to the window where he watched his neighbour’s son play the piano. Every night was a different song, ranging from Bach to Mozart – in short, he was a piano playing prodigy. He was constantly on the piano, according to his mother, starting at the crack of dawn, in the late evening after school and at night. Minghao had often wondered whether he had been forced to play the piano by the excessive hours poured into that instrument but after watching him play for the first time, he knew that the piano was his passion.

 

            His fingers danced across the black and white keys, as if guiding the player’s body instead. They were in control of the song, and he was simply the vessel. His eyes were always shut whenever he played, lips trembling slightly as he swayed gently along with the movements of his fingers. Although it was softer at night, Minghao could feel every note played with the same burning fire of passion in the evening – where it was the best. He watched the different emotions evoked when different songs were played, the same hands doing the same job but differently. Minghao’s personal favourite was the song he played every Monday night, Tchaikovsky’s Dance of the Reed Flutes, which he had spent a whole week trying to search for the song through a shitty phone recording. There was a manner that he played the song that sounded different from the other songs he played, for he always scrunches his nose and smiles at his piano whenever playing the song, bouncing lightly in his seat.

 

            Minghao thought he was practicing for an exam when he began playing the same song repeatedly for a month at night. It lulled him to sleep at first, the usually jaunty song in a more subdued tone until he realized he was playing the song on purpose. He never had the confidence to approach him on the matter, after all, he was the pianist, he has full control over what he chose to play but on the other hand, he was a man who enjoyed variety in his life and if it meant being able to hear other composers besides Tchaikovsky, Minghao would gladly try his best. In the best Korean he could muster, he scribbled: “Do you play any other songs other than that? :)” A smiley face was added for flair as he folded the paper into an airplane and tossed it into his room.

 

            The airplane hit him in the shoulders, stopping him mid-play as he stared at Minghao in confusion. However, amidst that confusion was a glint in his eyes, and Minghao knew for certain he was playing the same song on purpose, but what for? He folds the paper and places it on top of his piano, walking over to the window with a small smirk on his face as he gestures Minghao over.

 

            Their houses were almost connected, for their rooms both had another roof below their windows that extended over to the walkway below their homes. Minghao shook his head repeatedly, gesturing at the roof tiles and re-enacting a dramatic death scene. The pianist tossed his head back and laughed, a warm sound enveloping the cold night’s air, and beckoned Minghao again. “Curiosity killed the cat,” Minghao reminded himself, swinging one leg over on his window. “But satisfaction brought it back.” He finished, swinging the other leg over until both his legs were on top of the roof. Minghao sucked in his breath and lifted himself from his window until he was standing straight up. Being 5’10”, his height anxiety began to kick in as he tethered slowly towards the pianist’s window.

 

            “Just man up,” the pianist called in fluent Chinese and Minghao snapped his head in his direction.

 

            “Excuse me?” Minghao responded in confusion. The pianist chuckled and inched back into his room as Minghao took a few more steps before sitting at the edge of his window. “This is trespassing.” He spoke to himself, hitting himself in the head lightly.

 

            “I’d like to think it’s a unique way to invite guests into the home,” the pianist responded, speaking in Korean instead. This was the first time Minghao had heard him speak a full-length sentence. He stared at the pianist, studying him up and down now that he was in the same room. “You don’t look Korean.” He remarks at Minghao.

 

            “Neither do you,” Minghao responds in Korean. His Korean was slightly broken, with his intonation varying due to seventeen years of speaking in Chinese. “Which part of China?” he asked.

 

            “Shenzhen.”

 

            ‘ _City boy._ ’ Minghao thought to himself. “Haicheng.” He answers. Minghao swings his legs awkwardly at the window. Now that they’ve established the fact that they were both Chinese, what do they continue speaking in? Broken Korean or Chinese? Minghao was about to query about their mode of conversation when the pianist answered his previous question, in Chinese.

 

            “How else would I get you over here?” he smirks, folding the paper into a tiny square.

 

            “Excuse me? What?” Minghao splutters. He gestures back to the paper and Minghao’s mouth forms a small ‘O’, nodding his head. “Ah. I like your piano playing.” He admits, scratching the back of his ear.

 

            “I know,” he responds with a smile, sitting back at his piano seat. “I know you watch me play every night-“ he stops himself midsentence. “That makes you sound creepy, I mean, I know you listen to my piano playing every night.”

 

            “How do you know? Your eyes are always shut whenever you play.” Minghao responds, moving from the window. He pulls a chair and sits next to the piano. Minghao was stunned when he realized the piano was unlike the grand pianos he had seen in movies or fine dining restaurants, it was a simple black piano, with the pianist’s initials carved into the top of the piano. “Wen Junhui…” Minghao reads aloud quietly, tracing his fingers over the Chinese characters.

 

            “I don’t. Now I _do_ know that you watch me play every night.” Jun chuckles, causing a blush to creep across Minghao’s face. “And yeah, that’s my name. What’s yours?”

 

            “Xu Minghao.” He answers quietly, still unable to rid his face of the small flush.

 

  It has become a habit for Minghao to climb over to Jun’s bedroom after that night. He would climb over at around 10pm at night, sitting next to Jun and watching him play the piano right before his eyes. The once faint piano music was now louder in his room, which was bare save his bed, closet, and table. If it wasn’t for the piano, this room would have lacked character. “You seem like an organized person,” Minghao murmurs, examining his room. Jun pauses, stacking his piano sheets against the stand.

 

            “I don’t particularly use this room a lot, I just sleep here.” He shrugs, sifting through his piano sheets.

 

            “Don’t you play the piano here?” Minghao asks, gently pressing the keys to keep his hands busy.

 

            “My parents are professional pianists. We have a grand piano downstairs. I like playing on that piano more,” Jun answers, pulling out a sheet. “Here we go. Piano for beginners.”

 

            “What do you mean for beginners?” Minghao chuckles nervously, edging away from Jun’s seat.

 

            Jun cocked his eyebrow. “Just a few days ago you asked if I could teach you how to play the piano. Don’t you remember?” Minghao shakes his head in response, racking his brain to remember when did he _ever_ ask Jun to teach him to play the piano. He came over simply to enjoy more piano music, not more not less, learning the piano was asking for something more than he had bargained for. “You have a terrible memory. Here,” he ignores Minghao, placing the piano sheet on the stand. “Everybody knows the basic _do re mi_ right? Try it.”

 

            Minghao presses a key that he assumed was do. Jun chuckles and guides his finger to the right key, which was a whole three keys downwards. Just by picking up his finger, Minghao felt a cliché jolt of electricity travel up his arm. He jerked back lightly, stunning Jun for a second but resuming back to guiding Minghao how to play the basic chord. His hoodie suddenly became stuffy for a cool night, with beads of sweat dotting the back of his neck. What the _hell_ was happening to him? “Are you alright?” Jun asks, waving his hand in front of Minghao’s face.

 

            “I’m fine,” he shakes his head to rid his brain of irrelevant thoughts such as how soft Jun’s hands were – enough. “This is _do_?” Minghao presses the key lightly. Jun nods his head in approval. “ _Re, mi, fa, la, ti_ and finally _do_?” He asks, his fingers moving up the keys awkwardly. Jun stifle his giggles by placing his hand over his mouth, smiling in approval.

 

            “Congratulations, you know your basics!” Jun claps his hand quietly. His claps echo in the quiet night save the small timer that buzzed on top of his piano. Jun frowns, pursing his lips at the time that was on the clock: _12:30AM._ It was the sign for them to part every night, with Jun heading to bed, probably humming a new tune whilst Minghao climbs back to his own room, without any more piano music lulling him to sleep.

 

            Tonight, Minghao climbs back with fuzzy and buzzing feelings inside his chest. His mind flashes back to when Jun gently guided his hand over the keys and lingered longer than he expected. Minghao is reminded of the sudden spark of electricity in his fingers, the odd fluttery sensation in his stomach when Jun inched a little too close than he thought he would, and the warm feeling of fulfillment when Jun congratulated him. It’s way more than Minghao had expected or even thought of when first approaching Jun. He tries to shake the feelings off, slapping himself lightly across the cheeks multiple times before lowering himself back to bed.

 

  Piano lessons with Jun eventually became more than what Minghao had planned. Hand brushing was one thing but now Jun was straight up holding onto Minghao’s hands and guiding him with the left-hand chords, in which Minghao struggles to coordinate his left and right hands to play simultaneously. Jun has moved from sitting next to Minghao to standing behind his back, pressing his body against Minghao’s back (unintentionally or intentionally, Minghao would never know) with both his hands on top of Minghao’s as he guides him with the most basic song from the beginner’s book, Edelweiss.

 

            It was a slow and gentle song, one that Minghao soon discovered was about the beauty of a flower. He could always hear Jun mumbling the English lyrics incoherently, for that was one of the ways Jun played. He was able to play by ear, transforming any song into a piano masterpiece within a few days. “Try it for yourself,” Jun instructs, removing his hands from Minghao and returning to his side. The sudden coldness where Jun had removed his body caught Minghao off guard, his fingers turning clumsy and pressing the wrong keys.

 

            “Ah my coordination is terrible,” Minghao complains, pressing his face against the keys which groans quietly. “I’m never going to get it.”

 

            “Nobody becomes a prodigy overnight,” Jun chides. “It takes practice to be where I am today.”

 

            Minghao opens his mouth to retort but shuts it quickly, for he has nothing to say. “Speaking of nights, why do you play the piano at night?”

 

            Jun, in the middle of playing Edelweiss, pause. He stares out of the window, which revealed a full moon tonight. “What does the moonlight sound like?” he asks.

 

            “You’re so full of metaphors,” Minghao shoves him lightly. “You know I don’t have the ability to understand your deep and _profound_ thoughts.”

 

            Jun smiles and grabs Minghao’s hand, guiding him to the window. “ _What does the moonlight sound like?_

 

 _It sounds like the calming lullabies of my mother_ when she used to sing me Edelweiss to sleep when I was in China.

 

 _It sounds like the comfortable silence between two lovers,_ a silence that I have grown to appreciate and long for every night.

 

 _It sounds like the chimes of a wind chime in summer._ The ever so light twinkle when the summer breeze gently dances across the chimes.

 

 _It sounds like all the loveliest things in the universe_.” Jun finishes, staring back at Minghao’s hazel eyes with a soft smile.

             

**Author's Note:**

> music mentioned:
> 
> \- dance of the reed flutes  
> \- edelweiss in chinese, the voice china version


End file.
